Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: The Tiger's Guardian
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Silence.
Ever since the last fragment of Mercy's shield had clattered to the ground, the retainers watching our duel hadn't uttered a single word.
Even Mercy, who had been locked in combat with me, was no exception.
Arandal watched our stalled match and slowly raised his hand.
"The winner is, Third Young..."
Paak!
"Kuhk!"
In the middle of Arandal's announcement, I swung hard at Mercy's shoulder—the one still clutching her shield. Her head whipped around, and she sprawled back onto the dirt.
"Get up, sis. What's with the drama? You're not some fragile little girl."
"...Tch! How dare a worm like you...!"
Mercy staggered to her feet, yanking a dagger from her waist with her left hand.
In a shield-wielding house like ours, every fighter knew the playbook for losing your shield. It was basic training.
She was one of the heirs gunning for the family seat. No way she'd throw in the towel over a busted shield.
Arandal quietly lowered his hand as Mercy growled and reset her stance, acting like nothing had happened.
The retainers shot him strange looks, but Arandal just kept watching the duel as if it were business as usual.
'What? Come on. Honestly, didn't the vibe say the match was over for everyone but me?'
Arandal felt deeply wronged.
Whish!
I dodged the diagonal slash from below and slipped inside her guard.
Stab!
As if she'd anticipated it, a small blade thrust straight for my heart.
Slash!
I twisted just enough—the fabric and skin of my lower abdomen tore open. A split-second slower, and it'd have been a deep gash. Bad luck? Could've been fatal.
Even after I'd smashed her shield, Mercy's momentum hadn't flagged a bit. If anything, she seemed fiercer.
Her face was stone-cold, eyes dead serious.
The casual glint from when she'd treated this like a game? Gone, washed clean.
Blood trickled from her mouth, but she ignored it, laser-focused on me.
This was Mercy—the girl whose raw talent alone put her on par with our brother Ares, or even ahead in some ways.
Bang!
I parried her gladius with a knife-hand strike from my right, created distance, and relaxed my stance.
Did she sense I had no fight left in me? Mercy glared and barked,
"What the hell? Get back in stance."
"I think that's enough."
"Enough? The match isn't over. I didn't say it was."
"What match? Weren't you testing my talent? I've proven plenty by now, don't you think?"
I glanced at the shards of her shattered shield, then at the tear in my own gut.
"Besides, tempers are flaring. No need for siblings to make a bigger scene, right?"
"Shut your trap, you worm! Let's go again. I'll crush you flat this time."
"Sir Arandal, do we really have to keep this up?"
Ignoring Mercy's tantrum, I turned to Arandal.
He'd been staring blankly at our fight, but my call snapped him out of it. He shot a look at Father.
After a moment, Arandal crossed his arms, signaling the end of the bout.
Father must've nodded his approval—I'd bet on it.
"That's enough, milady, young master. Any more is pointless."
"Damn it! Sir Arandal, I'm not satisfied. That bastard just..."
I had a feeling I knew what Mercy was about to say. And it wouldn't do me any favors.
I closed in and hugged her, patting her back.
From afar, it might've looked like a heartwarming sibling wrap-up. But no one here was buying it.
I leaned in close to her ear and whispered.
Mercy froze solid at my words, grinding her teeth as she spat back one venomous line.
"...You'll pray I never become lord. If I do, I'll slice your throat real pretty."
"Ooh, scary. If you can manage it. Hey, even if I take the seat, your head stays on—so don't sweat it."
Mercy gnashed her teeth and snarled at me, but I brushed off her threats like they were cute.
Sensing closure, Father rose and declared it official.
"Call it a draw. Good work, everyone. Rest up till new orders—mission just wrapped. Dismissed."
He kept it short, then stopped me just as I turned to leave the training grounds.
"Jerome. Come with me."
"...Yes, Father."
This was Father. No way he'd miss the techniques I'd pulled.
'Had to clash eventually.'
I followed him out, leaving the training grounds behind.
The lord and most retainers had cleared out. Folks headed to their quarters to brace for tomorrow. But Mercy and her crew were still rooted there.
"Milady, are you all right?"
"Of course I am, Sir Kamit. What, you think that punk actually beat me?"
"Perish the thought. I'd never presume..."
"I got sloppy, took a hit, and before I could pay him back, Father and Arandal called it. Got it?"
"Yes, milady."
Kamit, the wind mage in her faction, bowed deep in apology for his slip.
Mercy bristled like a hissing cat, sharp as a blade.
She was grinding her teeth to dust.
How the hell had that dullard—once mocked as a worm, not even family—leveled up like this?!
Fine, say he grew. What pissed her off more was something else.
'That goddamn bastard. He pitied me. Me!'
She vividly recalled her brother's whisper during that infuriating hug.
—Sis, save face and call it here? You wanna get humiliated in front of your retainers?
—...!!
—I don't gain anything beating you now anyway. Let's end it.
Most galling? For a split second, she'd agreed with him.
Mercy bit her lip, sheathing her sword with a rasp.
'Just you wait, Jerome. I won't let this slide.'
Finally, Mercy stormed off with her faction in tow.
"What do you make of it?"
Ares tossed the question out of nowhere on the way to his quarters. His retainers trailing behind got it instantly.
"An unexpected variable, young master. At minimum, treat him like the second lady—same vigilance."
Hakaren, Flame Knight of the Six Shields, answered from Ares's left rear.
"That serious? What about you, Sir Raik?"
Raik, the Lightning Mage of the Six Shields on his right, nodded.
"Indeed, young master. Draw or not, everyone saw Third Young Master dominate Second Lady there."
Hakaren backed him up.
"And that technique he used. If I'm not mistaken, it was..."
"Pankration—the lost art. What else packs that kind of bare-knuckle punch? Ha, when did he pick it up?"
Ares chuckled like it amused him, but Raik stayed grim.
"Third Young Master endured the 'worm' stigma for years despite that skill at his age. That's no ordinary grudge."
"Hm. So why now? Jerome laid low forever—why reveal it suddenly?"
Raik adjusted his glasses.
"He must think the time's right. Time to bare his claws."
"Claws, huh."
"Don't drop your guard, young master. Assume he's prepared something we don't know—and it's ready."
Solid logic.
"Hakaren, dig into every soldier who went to Nile with Jerome. Report back."
Ares commanded.
"We don't know who'll inherit yet. But that seat demands rising fair and knightly—above all else."
He spun, declaring to his faction.
"I dodge no challenges. Mercy, Jerome—bring it fair and square if you've got the skill."
"As you command, rightful heir."
His faction knelt, affirming.
The upright firstborn who shunned dirty tricks—that's why they followed.
But his 'fair and square' was just firstborn privilege. Nothing more, nothing less.
Whether it'd hold once that privilege faded? Time would tell.
"Why'd you stop?"
Beskin latched onto me like a shadow after Father grilled me in his study for ages.
"Ah, what now? No work?"
I tried shaking him off, but...
"Forgot? I'm two days back, same as you, young master. Still rest mode."
"Retainers get to slack off?"
"I'm a knight first. Outside fighting or training, slacking's the job."
"Then go train."
"Nah. Fresh home yesterday—too soon. Resting for now."
"Lazy knight."
"Competent one, too."
"...Not letting up, huh."
"Picked up a trick or two watching someone these three months."
Beskin shrugged shamelessly. He'd cling till he got answers.
"Fine... what?"
"That duel—why throw it?"
Beskin stared, dead serious.
"No dodging. I saw you fight orcs up close. You're no slouch against Second Lady. I'd bet you outmatch even Ravins, my vice-captain."
The proud neutral knight demanded answers.
"Beating her pulls in neutrals and her faction, boosts house rep. Why pass?"
I sensed it instinctively. My answer would sway his 'choice'.
"Sir Beskin, do you force down tasty food when you're stuffed, even if it'll make you sick?"
He took my curveball as part of it, answering earnestly.
"I don't waste food."
...Damn, shattering the image.
Catching my glare, he coughed and corrected.
"...Ahem. Fine, I'd save it for later. No stomachache that way."
"That's your answer, Beskin."
I waved my arms.
"See? All I've got is this body and the Carviot name. Say I crush Mercy, our faction's linchpin—what happens?"
Before his quip, I pressed on.
"Humans react two ways to an overwhelming rival: submit, or shove 'em aside."
"So submission's possible?"
"Sure. But what if that rival looks weak?"
Countering his counter.
"A growing tiger cub, barely shielded by its dam? Hyenas and wolves tear it down quick—before it grows."
So hide the claws for now. Not a full tiger—a leopard. Or sharp-clawed cat.
Grown enough that pack hunters could still take it later.
I eyed Father's knight, who'd spent three months with me.
"Gotta endure till the tiger's big. Tough break, but that's wildcat life. Anyone got a sturdy pack for fence duty?"
Three months together, and Father's knight eyed me back.
"What if the wolf pack smashes the fence?"
To his retort,
"Won't it hold till the tiger's strong? Or am I wrong?"
Father's knight met my gaze.
"No. You see clear."
I met his.
Beskin knelt slowly.
"Ice Knight Beskin and the Blizzard Knight Order pledge as your sturdy fence, Third Young Master. Till the day you roar and shake the world."
With the first house mission done, amid shifting thoughts post-duel,
This day—in past life and now—I claimed my first knight.